


Felis Felicis

by Nana_41175



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Cat People AU, Courtship, Humour, M/M, PWP, Romance, late night dinner dates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:28:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: In this AU fic, Q and Bond are cat people belonging to different genera of felines (Q being Felis catus, or the domestic cat; Bond is a lion, or Panthera leo). They get thrown together and…stuff happens.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 27
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliensundermybed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliensundermybed/gifts).



> The scientific nomenclature used here are based on actual scientific names for the various cat species. Within genus Felis are the smaller felines like F. lynx and F. catus. The genus Panthera has the bigger cats like P. leo, P. tigris, and P. pardus (leopard).
> 
> Felis Felicis = Lucky Cat XD

**Author’s Notes:** Hey, everyone! Welcome to **007 Fest 2020** and to a new fic! Yes, it’s that time of the year again! Come join us and let’s have lots of fun this entire July as we celebrate the month of Bond and Bond-related content.

This fic is a tribute to **Aliensdoodles’** (Aliensundermybed) gorgeous art featuring [Cat!Q and Lion!Bond](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Eb32uhKWsAACy_L?format=jpg&name=large). Visit [her twitter](https://twitter.com/Dramaticatart) and drool over her incredible art! (Please note some works are NSFW, including this lovely pairing!)

In this AU fic, Q and Bond are cat people belonging to different genera of felines (Q being _Felis catus_ , or the domestic cat; Bond is a lion, or _Panthera leo_ ). They get thrown together and…stuff happens. This is more or less a light-hearted PWP so please heed the tags. Seriously. Especially when things heat up.

If you wish to proceed despite the warnings, we hope you enjoy the ride with us!

* * *

“007.”

Bond sat back down on the bench with a grunt.

The lithe young person seated beside him continued in that posh, low voice, “I’m your new Quartermaster.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Bond replied, lips curled around the beginnings of a sneer and voice flat as he turned his gaze back onto this creature whom he’d initially dismissed as an audacious art student, sidling up to him in a picture gallery to start a nonsensical conversation— a prelude to a pick-up, perhaps. Bond was quite used to it.

What he was not used to was being blindsided by a superior officer wrapped in a large, dark anorak.

Now he peered closely at him, taking in the bespectacled, serene features; the artfully messy hair where a pair of pointed ears protruded. They were soft and relaxed on that dark head, indicating that their owner was entirely at ease as he sat in a graceful sprawl beside Bond.

 _Impossible!_ Bond thought.

He saw those red lips twitch in the smallest of smiles as the youth continued, “Why? Because I’m not wearing a lab coat?”

“Because you’re a…” Bond stopped himself just in time, biting in the contempt that dripped from his words.

The Quartermaster turned to him, a dark brow arched provocatively as those lips curved in a smirk, faintly sardonic, daring him to say it out loud.

That got to Bond and he was obliged to finish what he was saying.

“You’re a _cat.”_

“Excellent observation, Bond,” said Q dryly. “As are we all, in one form or another.”

“I mean—”

 _“Felis catus_ , yes, I do know what you mean,” said Q, in a tone cool and tart, rivalling Bond’s contempt. “Your point?”

“You’re—”

 _Damn it all to hell._ Even by Bond’s standards, there was no way he could call his Quartermaster a house cat to his face.

He tried another angle, and was even sorrier for what spluttered out of his mouth, he could not help it: “You’re practically a _kitten!”_

If anything, the smirk widened into a smile. “Age is no guarantee of efficiency,” Q argued smoothly.

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

“I wager I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field,” said Q loftily, dark, slender tail swinging lazily behind him, those velvet ears flicking ever so minutely as he spoke.

Bond was astonished to find himself wanting to touch them, to see for himself just how soft they actually felt.

“Oh, so why do you need me?’ he scoffed, unnecessarily gruff as embarrassment took hold of him for a moment.

_What was he thinking??_

Q let out a small snort and a shrug. “Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled,” he said.

“Or villains mauled,” finished Bond, smiling now as he stuck his hand out. “It’s hard to do that in your pajamas, Q.”

The Quartermaster took Bond’s proffered hand, his smile turning wry, and shook it. “007,” he said.

It was not, thought Bond, the smoothest of introductions, but the newcomer promised to be interesting. Very interesting, indeed.

He could not help but wonder just how long he would last.

* * *

Bond need not have worried.

It was quite ridiculous how the wispy-looking Quartermaster managed to have all the big, formidable double-O agents eating out of his hand by the end of his first month on the job. Really, it was quite something to have all representatives of _Panthera_ bow before this slender, almost ethereal creature (at least his predecessor had been more substantial in body as a _Felis lynx_ ), and to engage in ungainly squabbles for his attention!

This impossible creature with his outlandish cardigans and his waspish tongue, who was brilliant. And effective. And charming. And no doubt he could send you out in the field with nothing but a single lock-pick and an outdated Walther if you were fool enough to have sent him that ball of yarn as a prank at the start of his tenure. (Bond had an idea who the idiot agent was but nobody was really talking.)

As for Bond, he’d sent him some catnip cookies once, half in jest. Actually, he’d come across a patisserie in Paris offering said cookies and he’d bought a batch without really thinking it through. He’d found it _amusing_ , at least until Q gave a flippant remark about the appropriateness of certain people gifting others with _spiked_ baked goods.

That had got Bond imagining, inadvertently, of the Quartermaster, losing his usual unflappable grace as he got high and blissed out, cookie crumbs and catnip strewn around him. It would take more than catnip to do some serious damage though, and for all his subtle jabs, it seemed the Quartermaster was not actually averse to gourmet cookies, so Bond had taken to gifting him with more treats as time went by.

“Why do you even bother, Bond?” sighed Q as he eyed the latest parcel, handsomely wrapped and topped with a dainty bow. “You know you can’t bribe your way into getting ahead of the list for the newly remodeled Kalashnikov.”

“You need to eat more,” was all Bond said, smiling as Q undid the wrapping with nimble fingers. “Put some meat onto those bones.”

“Goodness me,” murmured Q as he peered down at the contents of the box. “Cupcakes.”

 _There’s a waiting list for those_ , Bond would have wanted to say, but Q was ahead of him.

“Spoiling me, aren’t you, Bond?” he said, peering up at Bond with a glint in his eye. “Wherever will this lead to aside from my gaining a few extra pounds?”

“Dinner,” Bond found himself saying. “Of course.”

Because, yes, dammit, he’d wanted to ask his Quartermaster out on a date for the longest time. He was surprised he’d dawdled so long, working up the nerve to ask something so simple. Why was he pussyfooting around this issue, with this person?

He was just beginning to understand that nothing was simple when it came to Q.

Q gave no reply. Instead, he lifted a treat from the box and bit into it, humming out his appreciation. His tail switched in lazy approval.

Bond watched as Q licked a bit of whipped cream from the corner of his mouth. There was a tantalizing scrap of pink tongue, fastidious and precise. A flash, and then gone. Bond felt a stab of heat shoot straight to his groin.

_Bloody hell._

He wanted him. _Now._

“Good?” he managed to say.

“Excellent. Thank you, Bond,” Q remarked. “Oh, I’m making a mess.”

He’d got a bit of cream onto his hands and he was licking delicately at his fingertips now as he gazed at Bond with large, innocent green eyes. Bond had to fight back the shudder of arousal that passed through him like a live current.

"Something wrong, Bond?" queried Q.

Of course, _he knew._ He knew perfectly what he was doing to Bond.

“Q? Dinner.” It was all Bond could think to say and fuck him if he was going to plead, so early into this game.

“I’ll think about it,” Q replied, already turning his attention to the computer screen before him.

Bond smiled. At least it wasn’t an outright rejection like the way Q had flatly turned down 009’s clumsy overtures. (But then what could you expect of a _Panthera pardus_ who fell out of a tree when he accidentally fell asleep during a long recon mission?)

In cat parlance, the courtship had begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** Hey everyone! Here's the next chapter! Enjoy and do let me know what you think! More notes at the end.

* * *

Midnight, and all was quiet in Q branch.

For the first time in a while, there were no ongoing missions that needed their attention. Half the lights had been turned off, and all around Q was the low, soothing hum of the machines as he worked away into the night.

It was also quite chilly. The temperature was necessary for the computers, so Q had no choice but to bundle himself in a thick cardigan and jacket. He sighed as he eyed the large computer thrumming a few feet away, lights blinking, and resisted the urge to walk right over and rub himself against its warm surface.

He knew he was being silly.

He’d been feeling silly for quite some time, lately. He was feeling a high of sorts, and it was a struggle, sometimes, to keep a serious front, especially as the agents were inclined to all kinds of rowdy antics around him.

Really, they’re the silly ones, Q thought in a huff, as they traipsed flirtatiously around him and presented him with all sorts of gifts from their missions abroad. As if he could be bought so easily. And of course, he had to draw a line on all manner of dead things as presents.

It was funny how, underneath all that brawn and muscle, the double-O agents were really no different from him. Certainly, there could be no comparison in terms of brains. They were larger, to be sure, but it was quite ridiculous, for example, to see them reduced to purring with pleasure, given the right words of praise, or have them with ears laid low and tail sagging, after a sharp-tongued admonition over the state of their equipment.

No matter how fastidious they may be over their appearance, they were hopeless with the equipment. That vexed Q no end.

Outside missions, they were also creatures of habit. Q had laughed when he discovered 004, an _Acinonyx jubatus_ , fiddling with her tail. Cheetahs were notoriously edgy creatures, but it was precious to see such an efficient and fast killer as 004 running nervous fingers over her tail puff as they had their debriefing. He had the same habit of having his tail in hand when he was deep in thought (and when he was by himself, of course).

What to do with silly habits? He wondered.

Because he could feel one forming right now, even as he sat typing at his desk.

He knew 007 had just arrived from Berlin over an hour ago, and on nights such as this, when Q branch was running on a skeleton crew and Q himself was on duty, he could expect a visit, and food.

Ah. Sushi and sashimi this time.

“007,” he said, not turning around from where he was scanning some algorithms on a laptop. “How was the flight back?”

“Unremarkable,” drawled the familiar voice behind him, a hint of a purr tucked in the syllables. “I managed to nap on the plane.”

“Good,” said Q as he turned to face Bond, impeccably dressed in a sharp, grey suit and a big takeaway package in one hand. Not a single crease was to be seen, as though he’d just donned the thing on before stepping into Q branch. “And I see you’ve got time to get some dinner.”

“As always,” said Bond as he laid out the treats, in lacquered boxes, on Q’s table. “I’m sure you’ve not yet eaten.”

“Since when,” said Q, refusing to cave in so easily despite the mouthwatering smell of raw, excellent fish, “have you been so sure about anything concerning me?”

“Since I started looking you up,” said Bond with a glint of something warm but sharp in his gaze. “Kit.”

Q blinked. “Pardon?”

“That’s your name, isn’t it?”

Q snorted out a laugh. “It’s close, Bond,” he said, “but not quite.”

“Here,” said Bond, busily handing out chopsticks and napkins.

Q’s shoulders sagged. “Bond, I…we should start with the debriefing.”

“Later. Half an hour won’t hurt. Come on, dig in while it’s still fresh,” Bond urged, opening the boxes to reveal colorful sushi and delicate slices of sashimi. The arrangement was stunning.

“Oh, alright,” sighed Q. “But I must advise you not to keep doing this. What will people say? The other agents—”

“What can they say if they know nothing about it?” said Bond smoothly. “Here, give me your cup.”

“Bond,” protested Q as he watched Bond fill the small porcelain cup that he held with sake. “I can’t drink on the job!”

“A cup or two isn’t going to make you drunk,” Bond argued. “Besides, it will keep you warm.”

And it was indeed still warm from the decanter that Bond held. He must have got everything from Umu, the restaurant in Mayfair.

“You’re laying this on thick,” remarked Q, smiling despite himself. He took a sip of the excellent sake and was gratified to feel the warmth coursing through him. “And no, this doesn’t mean that you get first dibs on the prototype that I’m working on with Henry.”

“Why do you think everything I do is a bribe?” complained Bond, with a look of mock hurt on his face.

“Well, what else can this be? You’ve been buttering me up every chance you got for the past two months or so.”

“Is it really too much of a leap from the truth to say that I like taking care of you?”

Q scoffed, smiling wryly as he dipped some tuna belly sashimi in soy sauce and put it into his mouth. He fought the sigh of satisfaction that threatened to escape him as the tuna seemed to melt on his tongue. Exquisite.

“Are you saying I’m not taking care of myself well enough?”

Bond scrunched his nose as he chewed on a piece of octopus, contemplating Q’s question. “Well,” he said, motioning with his chopsticks. ‘If you consider just getting by on Meow Mix and some tea, then yes, I dare say you’re not taking proper care of yourself, Quartermaster.”

Q spluttered on his sake. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, yet he could not help but laugh. “Who told you—”

“Like I said, I do my research,” said Bond, smiling enigmatically.

“That was just once, in the middle of 006’s mission and I couldn’t get anything down for well over twelve hours!”

“Well, remind me to send you something from Lily’s Kitchen, at the very least, if you plan on eating out of a can,” Bond replied, blond tail twitching behind him to say he was pleased with himself.

“You’re impossible, Bond,” said Q.

“Would it be too much to say that I like taking care of you?” Bond argued, his gaze warm.

“It should be the other way around,” Q said as he started to gather the napkins and put the lid on the empty boxes. “But thanks. For all of this.”

“You’re welcome.”

Q paused for a bit, then said, “And it’s Keith, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Keith,” Q replied. “My name.”

“I know,” said Bond. “And it does sound a lot like Kit. For kitten. So I'll go on calling you that, if I may.”

Q stared at him as he shook his head, all words gone. He’d uttered every excuse, every argument he could think of, and still, Bond held his ground and was advancing relentlessly. He was aware that they were crossing a line. Or had crossed a line— each and every time Bond came, courting him with food and company.

It was easy to fob off the others when they got too close, so why this difficulty with Bond? Why this feeling of elation when he was with him? Bond was becoming a habit, comfortable and exceedingly hard to break.

"Just to clarify, this isn't a date," said Q.

"Well," said Bond, shrugging. "Dinner by any other name will still be dinner. And since you won't let me take you out..."

Q watched Bond’s golden tail flick again behind him, at those blue eyes that were nowhere near frosty whenever Bond looked at him, and knew that he was silly for thinking that he was not in deep, _deep_ trouble.

* * *

 **More notes: Umu** is a real Japanese resto in Mayfair. I lifted it from this [GQ article highlighting the best Japanese restaurants in London](https://www.gq-magazine.co.uk/gallery/japanese-restaurants-in-london). Enjoy! 


End file.
